Ella thought a minute; then she asked slowly,
“If they made a law that everybody must tell lies, which would be naughtier, to obey it or not to obey it?”
Just then a man began to scatter grain for the pigeons, and Ella forgot all about laws whether good or bad.
Of all the pleasures of Boston, there was one that Ella wanted more than she had wanted the tin soldiers, but she feared she would never be permitted to enjoy it. This pleasure was, to have just one ride in the swan boats in the Public Garden. The mother was afraid of boats, especially of little ones, and Ella saw no hope of the ride that she wanted so badly.
“Couldn’t I go for just one minute?” she pleaded. “I couldn’t possibly drown in one minute if I tried. Couldn’t I just get in and get out again?”
But the mother had no idea how deep the water might be, and she always answered,
“No, not until you are tall enough to wade out if the boat tips over.”
“But I’ll be a woman then,” said Ella, “and tall women don’t ride in the swan boats.”
“You can take some little girl with you, and maybe the man with the boat will think you are a little girl too.”
“But I don’t want to take a little girl. I want some one to take me while I am a little girl. I don’t care for the tin soldiers now, and I’m afraid that by and by I shan’t care for the swan boats; and then I shan’t ever have had a ride in them, and I’ll be sorry all my life that I had to leave it out.”